


Four Conversations at Fourtrees

by TeeQueenie (QueenPunk)



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPunk/pseuds/TeeQueenie
Summary: Under the stars, it was easy to imagine that the ancestors of their Clans were with them.





	Four Conversations at Fourtrees

I. 

Graystripe gestured eagerly with his paws as he told the story, “And then Fireheart just pinned Dustpelt to the ground. I couldn’t believe it! We were only just made apprentices at the time and he just took out one of--”

“You sure do talk about Fireheart a lot,” Silverstream observed, tilting her head. The blue of her eyes reflected the moon, casting a white light over their gaze. 

He gave his chest a few embarrassed licks, his pelt hot as he avoided her gaze. Sometimes, with her and him and the moon, he wasn’t sure if he was making a fool of himself in front of the beautiful and brave she-cat. 

“Well, he’s my best friend--even if he doesn’t approve of this,” his tail flicked in the space between them. “And I kind of feel, I dunno, connected to him I guess you could say since I was the one who introduced him to the Clan?”

Silverstream laughed, whiskers twitching. “You sound like a very proud mother who can’t wait to brag about her son’s accomplishments. Either that or sometimes I swear you want to be mates with him instead of me--or perhaps the both of us?”

She tipped her head to the opposite side, pretending to consider the idea. Graystripe shook his head fiercely, “No--no--well, Fireheart is pretty for a tom--wait, no. He’s more like the brother I always wanted. Yeah, that sounds right.”

Nodding in understanding, although her eyes were still filled with mirth, Silverstream asked, “Does that mean you don’t have any brothers? What about sisters?”

It suddenly occurred to Graystripe that she knew nothing of his family except that they were all of ThunderClan bloodlines. Instead of feeling daunted at having to openly share these details of his life, he found himself warmed from his nose to the tip of his tail. 

“I technically have an older brother,” Graystripe began slowly, mulling it over. “Darkstripe.”

“Oh. I know him. He’s awful.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“I’ve seen him feed apprentices rabbit droppings at Gatherings.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure he shoved an elder into a thorn bush.”

“We’re half-brothers,” he defended himself weakly. “My father is Whitestorm and I’m pretty sure Darkstripe’s sire was evil incarnate.”

Silverstream pressed closer to him, twining her tail with his, “Uh-huh. What about sisters? Do you have any littermates?”

Scraping his claws across the ground nervously, Graystripe glanced around the clearing, searching for silent shapes in the shadows that didn’t exist. “I had littermates when I was a kit, but…”

She tucked her head under his chin, “I get it. I used to have littermates, too.”

“Mine starved within three moons,” he said, trying to sound a tad humorous. “What about yours?”

“Greencough--or so I’m told. Both of my sisters died a few days after I was born,” she admitted, her voice absent of pain. She stated their deaths like one would describe the weather--something detached from emotional investment. 

“What were their names?” he asked.

“Minnowkit and Willowkit--you know my father named us,” she commented as an afterthought. 

“That’s weird,” he observed. “In ThunderClan the queens name the kits.” 

“RiverClan is the same,” Silverstream murmured, a tinge of loss in her tone. “But my mother also had greencough. She died shortly before they did.”

“I’m so sorry,” he licked the fur down between her ears in a comforting gesture, his heart aching. 

“Don’t be,” she meowed tiredly. “It was so long ago and I never even knew her or them. They’re just these ghosts that everyone else notices is missing but to me they’re...stories. Especially my mother. I can barely go one day without someone in the Clan commenting on how much I look like Willowbreeze or act like Willowbreeze--”

“If it’s any consolation,” Graystripe cut in. “I think you just look like Silverstream to me.”

“Thanks,” she purred. “What were your littermates named?”

“I had three brothers in my litter--”

“Oh, your poor mother,” Silverstream mocked lightly. 

“Shush, you,” he chided her. “Their names were Snowkit, Featherkit, and Thistlekit.” 

“Featherkit is a cute name,” she commented thoughtfully. 

“My mother, Willowpelt--isn’t it a little strange how many cats in our families have ‘willow’ in their names?--anyway, she named them after important cats in the Clan. Featherwhisker was the medicine cat who delivered us and the other two were named after Whitestorm’s parents. ”

Silverstream’s ears twitched, “You sure do have a lot of brothers; Darkstripe, Snowkit, Featherkit, Thistlekit, Fireheart--”

“Fireheart’s really the only one that counts,” he corrected her. “Darkstripe is Darkstripe and my littermates have been dead so long that they’re just bittersweet memories.”

“At least you remember them,” she pointed out. 

Graystripe nuzzled against her cheek and admitted something he had not told to any other cat, “To be honest...the reason why I don’t miss them as much as I should is because of Fireheart. When I think of my brothers their faces are slowly being replaced with his. It's almost as if we were littermates, y’know?”

“Not really, but that’s really sweet,” she murmured. “I hope any kits of ours will be as close as the two of you are.”

Graystripe’s yellow eyes widened comically as he sprang up and face her, yelping, “Kits?! Kits..? Silverstream! Are we having kits?!”

Springing away from his abrupt reaction, Silverstream flattened her ears and answered him defensively, “No! I was speaking hypothetically! Are you against us having kits or something?”

“No!” Graystripe burst out, his protest echoing in the stillness of the oak trees. He lowered his voice before continuing, his fur fluffed up in embarrassment, “I’d be delighted to have kits that are as wonderful as you. They would be the most brilliant warriors to ever be born in this forest.”

Relaxing, she pressed herself against him and whispered, “I’m sure our hypothetical kittens will be fantastic cats. How could they not be, with us as their parents?”

 

II. 

“Have you ever thought about being leader?” Silverstream asked abruptly. The two of them had stretched out onto their backs atop the Great Rock, gazing up into the dizzying beauty of the sky with the stars winking against the black.

“No,” Graystripe answered her with a mrrow of amusement. “I’m not interested in having all of that responsibility. I’d rather just serve my Clan as a warrior--following orders instead of giving them.”

Silverstream hummed, contemplating his answer. It made sense, her love was a simple tom with simple wants in life. It was refreshing--many of the cats who had pursued her in RiverClan had been ambitious and arrogant and adored her for her position rather than her personality. With Graystripe she didn’t have to worry about that--he gained nothing for loving her, with the risks so blatantly glaring in the light of day that the benefits were buried in burrows guarded by badgers. 

“And you? Wanna follow in Crookedstar’s pawsteps?” Graystripe asked, half teasing and half serious.

“Sometimes,” she replied honestly. “Seeing my father guiding our Clan and seeing how proud he is of them makes me want to be exactly like him. Other times…”

As she trailed off, Graystripe flipped over onto his side. He extended a paw and poked her shoulder, “What about the other times?”

Silverstream turned onto her side to face him. “Promise to keep this a secret?”

“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked with a little laugh. 

“I don’t know,” she said, laughing with him and rolling her eyes. 

“Then go ahead,” he prompted her, laying his tail across her back.

“Sometimes,” Silverstream began before she launched into this speech that had sat in her head and in her heart since she was an apprentice, “it feels like the borders and the code are strangling me. Sometimes I just want to hop on a piece of driftwood and go as far as the river will take me. I want to travel farther than any cat has gone before and then come back when I’m old to tell my stories to the next generation--or maybe become a kittypet instead and see how it is to be pampered instead of struggling to survive.”

When she finished, she was out of breath and Graystripe looked shocked. She ducked her head and refused to meet his gaze. “I know it’s insane and I would never do any of it--I love RiverClan too much to ever actually leave--but sometimes…”

“It’s okay,” Graystripe murmured. “I get it. Clan life is in our blood, but sometimes…”

“Yeah,” she sighed wearily, pressing her face against his shoulder. “Sometimes.”

 

III. 

“Wow!” Graystripe exclaimed. “You’re huge!”

Silverstream glared at him and promptly turned tail, trotting back towards the RiverClan territory. Her large belly swayed from side to side with each heavy step. Graystripe, quickly realizing his error, rushed forward with apologies falling from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry!” he proclaimed, matching her stride with his and twining his tail with hers. 

“You better be,” she growled, but stopped her angry walking to press against him. “These are your kits that are stretching my guts out.”

“How many do you think are in there?” he asked, reversing a bit to press his ear on top of her belly near her spine. All he could hear was her breathing and her growling stomach. “Do you need me to catch some prey for you?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I’ve been craving squirrel lately. I blame you.”

After her appetite had been partially sated--there had been no squirrels scurrying around at night but Graystripe had caught a mouse for her--the two of them curled up at the base of the Great Rock. Silverstream had her head nestled on her front paws, blinking drowsily as she fought to remain awake. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he pointed out, 

Her ear twitched and she mumbled, “Mudfur says he thinks it maybe three or four. An average litter size.”

“Average litter size? That sounds like a lot,” Graystripe warily pressed his paw against her belly, hoping to feel the kick of tiny paws. “Are you sure you’ll be able to manage the kits by your--”

“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off. “They’ll have a whole Clan to pester and play with once they come. Don’t stress yourself out.”

“I’m not stressed,” he said. “I’m just concerned for you. And our kits.”

“Okay,” Silverstream lifted her head. “You need to relax because you being stressed out is making me stressed out which in turn is stressing out the kits. So, relax. I only get to see you every so often and I’d like to enjoy this quiet while it lasts.”

“Me, too,” he muttered, keeping his paw on her protruding stomach as he rested his head against her side. The kittens--their wonderful, magnificent kittens who would be just like their mother--were still still so he was left with only Silverstream’s steadily beating heart. Silverstream began humming, a liltingly soft tune that reminded him of the river waves lapping against a pebbled shore. A RiverClan lullaby, he assumed. 

Graystripe racked his memories, jaw twitching as he tried to remember being in a warm den, pressed close to his mother as she sang soothingly over the howling of winter winds. His kits would never be able to experience a ThunderClan nursery song when they were born but here…

The words slipped from his mouth, the soft song sounding rough and out of tune as he sang. Silverstream purred and continued humming with Graystripe attempting to match the harmonies--mostly failing as well, but it was perfect to his ears. Instead of the harsh shrieks from his kithood, the wind rustled the oaks’ branches with gentle caresses. 

Under the stars, it was easy to imagine that the ancestors of their Clans were singing along with them, welcoming these kits which would be a blend of the two greatest bloodlines in the forest. 

Graystripe felt a timid little kick against his chin and he sang louder than before, hoping to reach his kits’ ears so that maybe a piece of ThunderClan history would be imprinted into their spirits. Silverstream slowly drifted off to sleep, her lullaby dying in her throat.

 

IV. 

The forest was still, silence weighing heavily in the air. The stars, so far away and tiny, seemed to glare down into the clearing, coldly assessing the lone figure that stepped forward. 

Graystripe glanced around, searching for a figure that he knew would never appear again. With heavy pawsteps, he made his way to the base of the Great Rock. Instead of scrabbling up its side, he crouched in its shadows, trying to remember the feel of sleek fur pressed against his side. He shifted uneasily, kneading his claws into the ground. He had to make this quick--if something happened to his kits while he was gone he’d never forgive himself.

“Hi, Silverstream,” he started, the words lodging in his throat like stones. “I--”

Suddenly everything he wanted to say disappeared. There was nothing he could tell her or himself or their kits that could ever make this hole in his chest disappear. 

“I miss you, my love. I just--I really miss you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated and keep me writing!


End file.
